


Like an Angry Beyoncé

by flyicarus



Category: Actor RPF, Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Academy Awards, Awkward Mark Ruffalo, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyicarus/pseuds/flyicarus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the performance of the Les Mis casts at the Academy Awards, Aaron and George steal a few moments privacy with the intent of something decidedly non-platonic, but end up doing something else instead, though they wouldn't change that for the world. [Aaron/George]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like an Angry Beyoncé

**Author's Note:**

  * For [putthebottledown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/putthebottledown/gifts).



Following the performance by the various cast members of various productions of Les Misérables, the actors could all be found milling backstage, taking off the microphones and wires, either stopping to talk or immediately going back to their seats for the rest of the show. It was at such a moment that George Blagden managed to finagle his way past a few stern looking crew for the awards show, and hands in his pockets, he looked around intently for Aaron, still smiling a little at the recent memory of how intense he’d been as he stepped onto the stage and began singing.

 

Someone had apparently forgotten to tell Aaron that he was not really Enjolras, he mused idly as he watched Ramin and Killian joke around as they took off their microphones. He knew that they both felt badly that he hadn’t been there to perform, that he was only there because Aaron wanted him there, but there was no helping it, and in either case, the most important thing was being there to support his friends and co-workers, though of course his priority was doing that for his boyfriend.

 

“Looking for me?” a low voice to his left asked, and before he even turned, George knew that it was Aaron.

 

“Nah,” George teased, shaking his head as he turned to face Aaron. “Looking for my boyfriend. He’s tall, gorgeous, very talented. Doesn’t match your description by a long shot, but maybe you can help me find him, yeah?”

 

“Oh, sure,” Aaron said, slinging an arm around George’s shoulders and rolling his eyes in affectionate exasperation. “You bet. In fact, I think I know where he might be. Being so amazing, he’s probably somewhere private, wants to avoid all his adoring fans and whatnot. Bet he’s waiting for you there. I’ll take you.”

 

“So generous of you,” George replied lightly, wrapping his arm around Aaron’s waist as his boyfriend guided him away and through the small pockets of performers. (He didn’t miss the way that Eddie and Amanda eyed them, both of them smiling a little. It was almost a pity that Fra wasn’t here; he would’ve been wolf whistling at them as they walked away, champion as he was of their relationship.)

 

A few moments later found the two of them ushering themselves into a blissfully empty bathroom, the farthest from the stage and other attendees, and Aaron felt himself immediately wrapped into a tight embrace, which he relaxed into, wrapping his arms around George’s waist. “You were _great_ ,” George enthused. “The absolute best, outshone everyone else on that stage, they didn’t stand a chance at all.” Aaron chuckled; feeling faintly flustered, as he was every time George complimented him so highly. It had become apparent even since their early days of being friends that George felt that no one could compare to him in the least, and it was still slightly foreign to him to have someone who thought so highly of him, but nevertheless, Aaron treasured it. They stayed like that for a few moments, still in each other’s arms except for minute touches of hands against backs, before George kissed Aaron’s cheek and stepped back slightly.

 

“You looked like an angry Beyoncé,” George teased, smiling a little even as Aaron looked at him blankly, his brow furrowing just slightly.

 

“An angry Beyoncé,” he said slowly, raising a brow as he regarded George curiously.

 

“Yeah. Such a diva, you practically pushed Samantha out of the way. What did the Academy ever do to you, anyway?” George asked, hands reaching out to straighten Aaron’s bowtie. “Forget to bring you caviar in the green room?”

 

“No,” Aaron replied, shaking his head minutely, his jaw setting a little at whatever was on his mind. “They didn’t put my boyfriend on stage.”

 

George blinked at that, not really knowing what to say, but he found himself smiling fondly, hands smoothing over Aaron’s chest. When he hadn’t been invited to perform at the Oscars even though he was in LA with a few of the other barricade boys, when he hadn’t been invited _at all_ , it had hurt terribly, and he felt embarrassed and a little bit like a loser, even though he knew that he wasn’t. Aaron had done an admirable job of trying to make him feel better about the whole thing, and on the whole, he was far angrier about the slight than George was himself, which was – actually really sweet, and endearing, or so George thought.

 

“Well, at least I’m here,” he said reasonably, fingers nimbly undoing the bowtie that he’d tied earlier that evening, leaving it draped around Aaron’s neck, then turning his attention to the first few buttons of Aaron’s shirt.

 

“Because I wanted you here,” Aaron murmured crossly, though the light, affectionate touch he gave George’s waist showed that his heart wasn’t really in being angry anymore.

 

“Mhmm,” George murmured agreeably, tipping his head up to kiss at Aaron’s chin. “And that’s what matters, to me. _You_ wanted me here, so it doesn’t matter if the Academy didn’t, or if I didn’t get to perform. Like you said earlier, what counts is that I was in the film in the first place, and I know that you’re my biggest fan, so why should I care, even the smallest, most minute amount, that the Academy didn’t think I was good enough?”

 

And in that moment, George really meant it. The past few days had been rough, just because he had felt hurt by it, but Aaron wanting him around was more important, as was being there for his boyfriend – being proud, and supportive, both of which he was, almost in overabundance.

 

“You are good enough,” Aaron murmured back, smiling faintly, and the fond look in his eyes was enough to have George smiling brightly, pressing close. “You’re amazing, you really are.” Aaron gathered him in his arms, pressing their foreheads together lightly, and George hummed contentedly, nuzzling their noses together briefly.

 

“I know,” George said primly, fingers plucking at the fabric of Aaron’s shirt. Aaron laughed at that, pulling back a little, and immediately George’s gaze flickered between the laugh lines at the corner of Aaron’s mouth and the crinkles by his eyes. Two of his favourite things, and he was the one that caused them to appear. The fact that he could make Aaron smile was one of his greatest accomplishments, he was sure.

 

“How about you kiss me a little?” he asked, tipping his head up in invitation. “That’s what I really thought about while you were on stage, so confident and gorgeous and talented.”

 

“Just kissing?” Aaron whispered, hands shifting to George’s hips and stepping forward, guiding the younger man to step back until the cool tile of the bathroom counter pressed against the small of his back. George let out a soft sound at that, and he wound his arms around Aaron’s neck, smiling and shaking his head a little.

 

“Not _just_ kissing,” he mused. “Other things too. But we can’t do those things in a bathroom at the Oscars.”

 

Aaron grinned then, wicked and conspiratorial, and George felt a thrill race down his spine, for he knew that whatever was going to happen, whatever Aaron had suddenly thought of, he’d enjoy it. That devilish smile was something he’d become intimately familiar with over the past – year, almost, George realized with sudden clarity.

 

“We’ve known each other for almost a year.”

 

“A year tomorrow, I believe,” Aaron supplied with a thoughtful hum, kissing the tip of George’s nose.

 

George couldn’t help but smile warmly at that, almost disbelieving that Aaron could possibly have remembered the day they met, started knowing each other. Which, George had been aware of for some time, was one of the best things to happen in his life. “You _remember_ that?” he asked, tone betraying his incredulity.

 

“I do,” Aaron nodded, smiling faintly. “You emailed me, that cute little rambly thing, and then we started emailing back and forth about things, and we finally met because we flew into France and arrived on the same day. You didn’t talk much, and I was pretty sure that you didn’t like me at all, and in fact, I thought that for quite some time.”

 

“I was just…intimidated,” George replied, somewhat defensively, although his heart wasn’t in it. “You were so great, talented and older and handsome and everything you said seemed just so amazing and cool, I felt like an idiot. A little boy.”

 

Aaron laughed as if the very suggestion was ludicrous. He’d never looked at George as if he was a boy, at any rate, and he was reasonably certain that no one else had either. “Intimidated by me? I’m an _idiot,_ George.”

 

“Yeah, you are.”

 

“ _Hey-_ “

 

George chose that moment to smother whatever it was that Aaron had been about to say, pressing their mouths together firmly, and the hand that Aaron had started to lift in indignation fell back to George’s hip as he relaxed into the kiss. He felt a faint smile, too, before Aaron returned the kiss fully, his other hand smoothing along George’s back until it was curled at the back of his neck, keeping his head tilted up and into the kiss. Knowing that Aaron wouldn’t want his hair, now gelled into perfection, messed up at all; George made a quiet noise and shifted his hands to grip at the suit jacket his boyfriend was wearing.

 

Tentatively his tongue darted out, tracing along the edge of Aaron’s bottom lip, and Aaron’s fingers rubbed against his neck idly as he opened his mouth to George. With a sigh, George licked into Aaron’s mouth slowly, tugging at his jacket until they were pressed as close as they could be; he couldn’t even bring himself to care that the tile pressing into the small of his back was more than slightly uncomfortable with Aaron crowded against him so.

 

Just as they were really getting into it, Aaron pressing his hips to George’s experimentally, their tongues lapping against each other’s slowly, the door to the bathroom opened and the two of them pulled back, their heads immediately turning to see who had stumbled upon them. Mark Ruffalo, standing in the doorway, frozen and jaw a little slack; definitely not embarrassed, but taken aback.

 

The three of them stood in silence for a moment before Ruffalo muttered a “Yeah…okay,” and stepped back out, closing the door behind him quickly. Aaron and George stayed still for another moment before they both erupted in laughter, sudden and delighted and bouncing off the walls of the bathroom, keeping a hand on each other even in a moment like that.

 

“God,” Aaron chuckled, a hand reaching up to cover his mouth as he shut his eyes and shook his head, both actions which George mourned for what they were taking away, even amused as he still was.

 

“A story to tell the grandkids,” George quipped, smiling fading just a little when he realized what exactly it was that he’d said. Grandkids. Surely that implied something more than what this was, or at least, more than what they’d talked about, and what if Aaron didn’t like it, what if a seemingly innocuous remark scared him off and made him cautious? What if—

 

“Yeah, you bet,” Aaron replied, opening his eyes once more and using the hand he’d had covering his mouth to ruffle George’s hair affectionately. “Remember that time we were making out in a bathroom and like idiots we forgot to lock the door, and then Mark Ruffalo walked in? Oh man, were we embarrassed!”

 

“Good times,” George murmured, a relieved smile curving his lips, a faint blush still high on his cheeks.

 

“You’re cute.” Aaron leant in, framing George’s face in his hands and kissing him softly. George practically melted into it, and made a quiet noise of protest when Aaron pulled away, nodding toward the door.

 

“Come on. Let’s get back out there. Anne’s award should be up soon, and hopefully we can manage to ignore the unfunny jokes.”

 

“You tell better ones. Should’ve hired you,” George said generously as Aaron pulled back, taking one of his hands and lacing their fingers together idly as he guided him out of the bathroom, making sure to hold the door on their way out.

 

“Hiring me to host the Oscars would’ve been the best joke of the entire night,” Aaron murmured as he and George made their way past crew and miscellaneous actors needing a drink, needing to go to the bathroom, whatever it was they needed to be out of their seats for. Perhaps they just wanted to escape Seth MacFarlane. In either case, they made their way back to their seats just in time for the winner for Best Supporting Actress to be announced, and both of them cheered loudly for Anne, pulling their hands apart only to clap enthusiastically.

 

As they settled back into their seats, George reached over, resting his hand against Aaron’s thigh lightly, leaning in and kissing his cheek lightly. “I’m glad I’m here,” he whispered so only Aaron could hear.

 

“So am I,” Aaron replied, glancing over and giving George a fond smile before turning his attention back to the show.

 

And really, George couldn’t have asked for a better evening, even if he was still slightly hurt that he hadn’t been invited to perform or attend, and wouldn’t have at all, if it wasn’t for Aaron having him as his plus one. He was so incredibly lucky, something like that shouldn’t even matter, and with a quiet sigh, he also focused on the stage, though his gaze predictably shifted to Aaron every few moments.

 

Who could blame him, really?

 

George certainly couldn't find it in himself to regret it for even a moment.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, this is a work of fiction and I make no claims on the truth or veracity of what is written here. many thanks to my friend Paisley for coining the phrase "like an angry Beyoncé" and also inspiring me to write this at all. :)


End file.
